


Bogey On Our Six

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beach Sex, Blowjobs, Don't Ask Don't Tell, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shower Sex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: He wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t being cautious either. The basic manoeuvres and formations could barely be identified by one of Top Gun’s best teaching staff. The Iceman has had his own downward trajectory. On the ground. For the love of Viper, he was on the  ground.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it finally happened, I stooped this low.
> 
> Takes some liberties with Naval rankings.  
> Pretty much all from Maverick’s POV, with his extra thoughts in italics  
> I shouldn’t have to warn for the gayness (and canon military homophobia) involved. 
> 
> That and this is pretty much inspired by bits of the other Ice/Mav fic here but hey, I’m just in it for the jets.

**March 1994- Naval Fighter Weapons School, Miramar.**

A howling roar of overtired Kawasaki tyres barely dulled those of the jets overhead. The Ninja screeched its way past the bewildered Miramar on-lookers, who were both appalled and intrigued by its reckless speed. To the countless officers though, there was no mistaking who had just made his grand entrance. Commander Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell.

Maverick strutted through the halls; letting doors slam, boots squeaking on the tile floors, making his presence known.

He cast a long glance to the far corner of his secluded office space, to the desk littered with files this and folders that. This was not the part of the job, he so bluntly requested, that he had ever gotten used too. A short stride over and he submerged himself in his paperwork. He skimmed over a couple transfer orders, upcoming promotions- that sort of thing. The sort of thing that he had no say in but he would have to accept.

The door flew open and he rushed to his feet, greeting Jester with a salute and a small smile. The other officer was now a Captain, so the sense of dominion was always there although the staff had many liberties under the new head of Top Gun. Maverick was happy enough to call Heatherly both his superior and a friend.

Although his current scowl depicted very little of a friend in that moment.

Maybe Maverick had just imagined it, but he was sure a wave of uncertainty and possibly something vaguely apologetic had briefly washed over Jester’s face.

“Thought you’d like to see the next classes’ stats” he stated, dropping more papers into the organised chaos that was already Maverick’s desk.

“How are they looking?”

“Pickings get slimmer every year. This is the final list though, complete with the last minute two replacements.”

  
Two replacements. Last minute. Maverick didn’t like the sound of that. Surely a replacement no, a filler flight crew? There would always be eight of them. Wasn’t that what he was? What he and Goose were?

Upon seeing Maverick begin to leaf his way through, Jester took his cue to leave, closing the door behind him. Heatherly‘s eyes focused on the empty office opposite Maverick’s, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

Maverick worked his way through hunting for each pilot and RIO’s service history; any squadron leaders, any dogfights, any kills. He made a brief mental note of a couple callsigns that stood out to him as he came across- _what the hell_ \- a personnel file. A personnel file that had been conveniently hidden amongst the stack.

The daring red stamp coated the file. The letters stood out all too clear. **TRANSFER** **APPROVED.**

He cautiously opened it to find any, and all information inside had been removed. Again, it appeared all too convenient. Surely tampering with another Officer’s personnel file breached numerous amount of protocol, right?

Maverick hadn’t given his old class much thought. He had of course been busy, trying to set up a life in San Diego and begin adapting himself for teaching. Miraculously, he had kept in touch with Hollywood and Wolfman. Nowadays Hollywood flew commercial and would occasionally swing by when he was down South. They’d meet a couple times a year with Merlin and Chipper in tow. He would never hear from Kazansky.

He had strangely heard from Slider a couple of times and he was led to believe that he and Iceman were no longer flying together. He would never hear from Kazansky.

So. The cool as ice, cold as ice, _don’t even try to melt me, I’ll still always win,_ cold blooded motherfucker was back. With his guns locked and loaded.

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky was making his infamous return to Top Gun.

Maverick figured no, hoped that the Iceman was a distant memory. Locked away in a tiny little box, in the back of his brain.

Kazansky’s ridiculously shined and re-shined boots, his immaculately ironed and re-ironed uniform shouldn’t ever enter the Instructor Program. _He had already had his chance._ Nor should the irrelevant, seriously, how the hell did he get away with it, height of those frosted tips, have any business being back in Miramar Airspace. No, of course they didn’t. Never mind the medals, that seemed endless.

Maverick let his mind wander as to what he thought Ice now looked like, aged about 33.

Whether his flying style was still all textbook, little to no imagination. Whether or not he had loosened up and learnt to bend. Had he buzzed anymore towers? Thrashed numerous sailors at beach volleyball? Perhaps not so much the latter, he has surely spent the majority of the last decade at sea.

Oddly enough they’d had some rare encounters over the last eight years since Kazansky’s name was inscribed on that plaque. Maverick was called back into active duty in early ’87 and was stationed on the USS Kitty Hawk. Then again in ’89. He’d spent a good six months or so, awaiting the attack that never really came. That and, he’d wasted countless weeks lazing about in his bunk, catching up with his temporary RIO Sundown, apologising profusely for how he had treated him those last couple weeks of the program.

It wasn’t until the last week or two before they’d be docking back to San Diego that he saw them. The two Top Guns seizing him up, in the hallway.

Slider wrapped an arm possessively around his pilot, fixing Maverick with a predatory stare. Drawing attention to the medals, Maverick stood prey to the newly decorated Lieutenant Commander Kazansky. He could feel those chilling hazel eyes on him, roaming all over his body for what was surely an eternity.

When Kazansky finally disengaged the staring match, Maverick had the pleasure of watching how his tight ass filled out his flight suit as they both brushed past him.

They somewhat met again in ’92. Kazansky was in town for… something. Maverick guessed shore leave since he never knew, or bothered to ask, just where the Iceman once called ‘home’, he settled for shore leave and left it at that.

He swears he remembers Ice drinking alone in their old hangout, the Officers Club. The ghost of the Commander in his pristine dress whites still fills his head. Sipping some expensive neat vodka, tossing it back as though it was water, never flinching. _Smooth bastard._ It was probably some imported German stuff that he would never be able to pronounce. Kazansky had sat alone and still had his head held high, now a haunting image in Maverick’s memories.

  
In ’86 _those_ dress whites were drawing all the ladies to Kazansky, they were throwing themselves at him. With those bleached curls, pastel lips and high pitched giggles that all the dogs would bark back at. They were all over him. They must have been lining themselves up outside his and Slider’s dorm.

Avoiding Ice that night wasn’t too hard. It was a Wednesday. Ladies night. Too many lonely women wanting to piss the night away with some hotshot in a fancy uniform.

Maverick was too consumed in drinking with the guys- getting pissed out of his mind the night before graduation seemed to be a new tradition of sorts. That and he was too busy helping Phoenix score some hot blonde bimbo to plan his encounter with Ice.

He had glanced over a couple of times and noticed one of the regulars with him at one point. She pressed herself against him, his face full of permed brown curls. She laughed at what the fuck ever and he slid his aviators up and drank more. The girl seemed too stupid to realise his disinterest and stayed at his side for a while.

That must have been when he had gotten bored of his watching Iceman and began his next Wingman routine with Hawk. Not that he really remembered how (or why) but Phoenix did score said blonde bimbo that night.

The final encounter had been more recent, only a couple months or so back.

Maverick was finishing up for the day and strolled towards Jester’s Office to hand in a revised flight evaluation- that he still thought was bullshit- for the F5 that had recently been giving him hell.

Maverick was stunned into immobility, green eyes widening for a moment, his brow knotting. His inner rant about the jet forgotten. The Iceman was right there, staring and staring, a suggestive smirk settling across his perfectly plush, distractingly plush cupid’s bow lips.

He licked them slowly, his tongue lingered there for a beat too long and he slid on his aviators. Now shielded eyes fixated on his former rival, his former wingman. Kazansky shamelessly ran his eyes up and down Maverick’s flushed face and his muscular body.

He had barely registered any of Kazansky’s words, his silky voice oozing confidence and cockiness was drowned out by the smug look on his face.

It wasn’t much of a conversation before he was flashed with the Iceman’s classic, threatening, a little too familiar and suggestive snap of his jaws. Then he sauntered past Maverick and he was gone.

There wasn’t much of a chance for Maverick to study Iceman, memorise those beautiful features or take in the chiseled physique he knew he still possessed. If anything those lips had magically become more prominent, more _inviting_.

Maverick shrunk down, confused and irritated. He hadn’t a fucking clue in hell how but he knew, he’d be out manoeuvred again. Iceman would take his shot and blow Maverick right out of the goddamn sky.

(There were also a couple of late night run ins on the carrier that he had chosen to forget. High on victory in ’86, high on testosterone and boredom in ’87 and ’89. A few long nights of drinking in the club after Ice had introduced himself to the tipsy Top Gun brass of ’92. Things that weren’t worth him wasting his time overthinking.)

Kazansky would leave again anyway.

Maverick had been right though. His _royal Icy-ness,_ was returning Monday at 08:00 hours.

The fucker was merciless, ruthless and Maverick would never get tone on him. He had the entire weekend to brood on how the showdown could go.

 

The Iceman returneth with irritatingly yet impressive timing, eyeing up the Top Gun entrance at dead on 08:00.

Maverick figured that he should roll in a little early, less of a chance _more of a chance?_ of running into the smirking blonde and causing a scene to piss off everyone and their mother.

He shuffled through, making eye contact with only those who deserved it and rounded the corner to his office.

Then he saw it, making a mental note to personally berate the man’s ass that had done it, he saw his confirmation.

The words were emphasised by a sudden sultry baritone in his left ear: “ **Captain T. E. Kazansky- Naval Fighter Weapons School _Instructor_ …** well, that was a mouthful yet it just sounds _so right_.”

Maverick jumped about a foot in the air.

Beginning to regain his composure, the hothead comically pivoted back and fourth from the door to the imposing man standing next to him; employing all 6 feet, dwarfing Maverick with ease. _Was he glowing under the lights? The blonde could simulate a halo. Asshole._

Maverick looked to his own office door. The inscription- _how in the hell is the douche already a Captain? No goddamn way is that fair_ \- the inscription was the same. Almost.

He was just a sitting duck on the Iceman’s radar. Even now, somewhat a distinguished driver passing 30.

Kazanksy gifted him another condescending stare, running those unnerving hazel eyes all over Maverick before slamming the door in his face.

Maverick reflected that he should consider himself lucky, at least he was on that bastards radar.

Their first debriefing together was, well, interesting in any and all matters. A handful of instructors and Tag-Rep officials were introduced to the new Captain who, greeted them with his usual cool composure and perfect toothpaste advert worthy grin.

That smile lit the cocky shit’s whole face up. It was nearly as meaningful as the one he graciously gave Maverick when he delivered the infamous Wingman speech.

When Maverick realised that he was valued, when Maverick realised he was one of them.

At least until he tried to be Pete Mitchell again, tossing it all overboard. The day he headed back to Miramar to chase his woman.

Quickly the niceties had gone out of the window and Iceman took his seat. Which was right behind Maverick, to his left to be precise. And perhaps a little nostalgic.

He could feel that hot, icy stare boring into him from behind. If only he had a pen, then it would definitely be deja vú or some shit like that. He’d surely be fiddling with it in his long, deft fingers. Maverick’s eyes would fall upon his navy ring; the gold of both the ring and pen would glisten against pale skin. They’d shine almost as much as his damn teeth.

Maverick eventually swung his head back to Ice who instantly snapped his attention back to Jester upfront. He’d been caught. Iceman seemed anything but cool in that moment.

Chancing another staring match, he again turned back to Iceman. Iceman, who again met his stare. Time seemed to slow down for a moment, the two of them locked into position, the perfect formation, until Kazansky heard his name.

 _SomethingSomethingWingmenToTheEndSomethingSomething_.  
His focus continued to spiral.

  
And that was when Maverick realised, although he was trying not to laugh at the Iceman’s momentarily surprised - _he_ _gets_ _surprised_   _nowadays? So unprofessional_ \- and slightly stuttered - _and_ _where_ _was_ _the_ _usual_ _self_ _assured_ _tone Maverick had reluctantly come to love_ _so much, disappeared too?_ \- that he would be training Ice. Working with him, showing him the ropes.

This would be interesting. Iceman loved to follow orders and Maverick would sure as hell give him some.


	2. Chapter 2

**April 1994-**

Maverick having any and all control over Iceman’s work ethic lasted about five minutes. Three, if he was being honest with himself.

Iceman’s first class would be arriving in a couple of weeks, May 16th, and here they were already: bickering over lesson plans and Iceman was already one upping him. _The_ _stone_ _cold_ _bastard_.

It wasn’t much of a surprise really. They both knew they needed to provoke the other one way or another. There was just something about the way Maverick’s voice would reach a whole new higher octave and the flush that would settle on his cheeks that visibly got to Ice.

Ice would cock an eyebrow, purse his lips or let out a frustrated sigh that, Maverick being Maverick, seeing his reaction meant refusing to distinguish Iceman’s fire.

These days, Kazansky was quickly growing tired of the nostalgic _need_ for _speed_ stints and their work time together abruptly ended when he calmly exited the classroom.

Arguments were becoming so frequent over technicalities and Mavericks unorthodox teaching methods. Although he was getting easily worked up, Iceman continued to freeze all his retaliations; leaving Maverick to seethe in near silence.

The weeks progressed and Maverick relived their arguments. The lack of come-backs and witty retorts from Ice were concerning.

 

Back in ’86 they would be battling it out in front of all the other students in the locker room. Or he would be getting his ass served to him, whenever Iceman was all _naked_ and _glowing_. Whenever Iceman was all _naked_ and _dripping_ _wet_.

So a hell of a lot.

Maverick forced down that savoured image of Ice in his tiny white towel that, lets face it, barely kept anything to the imagination; as Iceman was _virtually_ _grinding_ against the post in the shower stalls.

Not that Maverick was really taking in all lean 6 feet of him much to begin with, obviously.

Maverick considered that he should at least do something vaguely resembling the right thing or, at least let Iceman know he somewhat gave a shit about what he had said.

The second one would suffice.

 

After another altercation, in the locker room this time, Maverick decided these momentary laps were becoming old and stale. Perhaps he and Ice should try again, off base this time, to plan their classes together. He flinched at that thought.

Maverick’s _how do I get Ice to chill the fuck out so we can plan some goddamn lessons_ diatribe was cut short when he heard a knock at the door. He checked his watch. Just passed 17:30, the base had shut up for the day over an hour ago.

He stood up to salute whoever was about to walk in when he was met by an amused look on a handsome face. That signature smirk.

“You actually _do_ know how to properly address your superiors? Never thought I’d see the day.” Iceman trailed off, whilst Maverick searched for the faint hint of admiration he may or may not have heard.

“Don’t worry, I _am_ _still_ dangerous.”

Iceman let out a small laugh at that, like how he would laugh his way through certain words of disbelief. Or when he had just downed a shot.

“Thought you’d be gone by now.”

“Nonsense, I just got here and besides, there are plenty more dampened egos around here to stroke…” the shit winked, his tone rich with innuendo and possibilities. “I need more time with the simulator before I can do demonstrations in the F-14” Iceman’s tone was clipped, he seemed almost embarrassed to state  “haven’t piloted a Tomcat since Kitty Hawk. Jester decided it would be a good idea.”

“Guess you could use a refresher,” for reasons he couldn’t identify, Maverick was suddenly intrigued by this conversation.

“… yeah and well” Iceman trained his eyes onto the specs of water on the ceiling and admitted “I could use a little man’s help.”

A grin spread across Maverick’s face, threatening to split it. He also pointedly ignored the end of Kazansky’s comment.

“ _You_. Need _my_ help with learning how to-“

“- don’t be a little shit Mav, I just wanted you to simulate a MIG so I can blow your irrelevant ass out of the sky.”

Sounds more like it.

“Simulator time? Why not a one on one, well no, a two on one hop? You and me, with whoever at your back. See if you  get tone on the F-5.”

Maverick could see the gears in Iceman’s head turning, he didn’t want Kazansky to back down now. Maybe he could admit to have given flying with Ice again some thought.

The competition, the adrenaline rush. Being kept on his toes. Somebody loyal, who wouldn’t evade his Wingman. _A damn fine flyer._

But no, Iceman’s mouth was working but no sound came out. Maverick followed his eyes as they glanced upwards, he sniffed and looked back down to the shorter pilot. In an odd and uncharacteristic move, Maverick sided with Ice and led him to the simulator.

 

Maverick couldn’t help notice the strange uncertainty that now came with Iceman’s walk.

He paced, honest to whoever paced. He seemed agitated, irritable. Wired. He hastily wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead and Maverick cocked his head.

Cautiously, Ice approached the Tomcat. His simulator. He studied it and Maverick studied Ice in his weird, more self-conscious than usual perplexed state.

Had this had been back in ’86, Maverick would have rolled his eyes, yelled at Ice _to hurry the fuck up and get in the air already, you pussy_. Okay, he wouldn’t have actually yelled, or dared calling him a pussy to his most likely, (and delightfully) pissed off expression.

He definitely wouldn’t have been doing a good job at _not_ screaming something about wanting to be _goddamn inverted with MIG’s to kill._

Maverick could practically still hear that poorly covered **_cough/ bullshit_** and the laughter that erupted after.

This however was now the most concerned about Ice that he had been these last two months. It was damn unnerving. Sure, Mr “ _ **Ice cold, no mistakes**_ ”- _why did Goose have to introduce him like that?_ \- was cautious with his safety checks and every pilot had an off day but never had he seen Ice so lost.

Even in their rare, or pretty much non existent, encounters these last few years. Iceman had seemed so sure of himself. He was calculated. Over-calculated.

 

The textbook in action was nowhere to be seen when Maverick started subconsciously grading his performance. He hadn’t kept track of how long he was just standing there, barely biting back exploding over every wasted roll and dive that didn’t show much of a dogfight to begin with.

Suddenly Maverick heard a quiet _shit_ and realised Kazansky had started his decent. Ice again cursed himself for the poor execution before trudging his way out of the room.

He was still trying to piece together what he had witnessed. The hop was not at all cold and unfeeling or anything that somewhat reflected Maverick’s more unpredictable style for that matter.

_No man would ever be allowed into Top Gun flying like that. Hell, never mind winning._

He ran out after Ice, catching him in the car park. Iceman’s eyes were glazed and unfocused. He didn’t even question Maverick when he opened the BMW’s door and slipped inside.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t being cautious either. The basic manoeuvres and formations could barely be identified by one of Top Gun’s best teaching staff. The Iceman has had his own downward trajectory. On the ground. For the love of Viper, he was on the mother fucking ground. A missile lock would have been imminent in seconds. Maverick was thankful he was on the ground.

The two men made eye contact, Maverick’s eyes scanning Ice taking in the new lines around his eyes and the dark circles there. Laughter lines and scowl lines, the vulnerability of his stance.

Ice disengaged and fixed his gaze: something over the dashboard. Letting out a sigh he began, “Don’t say it. I don’t need to hear about how pathetic that was.”

Maverick tried to coax up an answer that would stir something in Ice, he wanted a goddamn retaliation. Or at least a snide comment so he sounded more like himself again.

“VFA-25 was a shit long time ago.” All the icy tones had evaporated.

“No it’s not pathetic just… what the hell was that?” Maverick inwardly cursed himself, _you dickhead_. He was already too invested in the Captain’s private power trip.

Iceman heaved another sigh, glancing at the steering wheel. Maverick took it as his cue to leave.

Iceman stopped him, his hand on his shoulder. This was the first real contact he had had with Kazansky in years. What was meant by it, he wasn’t sure.

He could tell Ice wanted to say something and his mouth settled in an odd way. Iceman’s unusually worried face told him he needed reassurance, guidance. Anything not at all Maverick- like to give.

His hand left Maverick whose gaze didn’t leave his own shoulder.

“Where are we going?...” Iceman looked at him, incredulous.

“…I know this nice little Italian place down past the Marina.” Iceman raised his eyebrows.

He looked Maverick up and down a couple times, trying to find the words. “So looks as though I’m buying endless rounds of breadsticks and beer and all I get is the pleasure of having Mitchell as company in return?”

Maverick scoffed at the grin settling across those taunting lips.

“Sure. Drive.”

 

Maverick requested a booth in the back, far away from those hoarding the jukebox and the bar. A couple of glances had been cast their way from some chicks with bleach blonde highlights, one of them batting her eyelashes as they sauntered past.

Iceman let out a huff, chocked out something that resembled “ _cockblocker_ ” and carried on to the back of the restaurant. Maverick heard the giggles dissipate as he followed him with a huge grin lighting up his face.

They slid into their booth under a ray of red lights. Ice glanced up and blinked a couple of times, the rays danced across his face, outlining his sharp jaw and the curve of his throat. He turned back to Maverick and was smiling, his face placid and open, watching Maverick watch him.

Away from work and the countless jets that got all too close too soon, Maverick had a little spark of hope that the cocky Iceman might just sneak up on him again.

They had lapsed into silence, studying the menu.

For the first time in two months of Iceman being back in Maverick’s life the silence wasn’t awkward. This time, he knew it wouldn’t be endless. He could even chance a proper conversation and maybe even get some proper answers.

Maverick had never really checked Iceman’s service history himself. He decided that he’d much rather hear it instead of constantly wondering what the hell Kazansky has been doing all these years.

Of course, Maverick gambled.

“So what have you been doing all these years?” Maverick stated. Iceman snapped into action.

“Not flying a desk for one thing-“ upon seeing the small smile slide right off of Maverick’s face, he continued “hell, at least it’s your desk.”

“Whatever Kazansky, keep the bullshit coming-“

“-Guess I’ve been pretty much everywhere. Shipped from carrier to carrier… waiting for the impending attack that we all knew wasn’t coming.”

Iceman let out a bitter laugh, Maverick knew that thought all too well.

“I’ve flown with good men. Worked with a lot of brave ones, who’ll stop at nothing to defend their country. Lost a hell of a lot of them too, too soon… The usual sad, tired story of life in the forces, whatever.” It had been an after thought Maverick mused.

He flagged down the waitress, ordering himself a beer and Ice vodka. As she strutted away, he became very aware of those hazel eyes on him again.

“Trying to get me drunk are you?” _Motherfucker._

Maverick huffed out a laugh, dis-engaging from the waitresses’ short black skirt: one of the reasons he loved this place. He turned back to Ice.

“Kazansky, you know damn well you can handle it.”

Ice rolled his eyes, eagerly awaiting the buzz (the flush) Maverick’s drink would bring him. Maverick started munching on the free breadsticks: another reason he loved this place.

“So you never settled down then? Did Blackwood _dump_ you?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah… She decided that, she knew what she wanted. She, she didn’t … dump me or whatever.” He paused mid breadstick.

He hadn’t settled down. After Charlie left to pursue her Washington gig, he’d slept around sure, but he never actually tried again for a relationship. He had realised that he hadn’t ever really tried for a relationship with her either. She was just there. He was just… frustrated, bored, horny? He still didn’t know.

How his stupid bar flirting had eventually landed her in the first place, he’d probably never know.

 _-The bet was twenty dollars. He had to pick up Goose’s tab in the end of the night anyway. It was all bullshit-_ Iceman appeared intrigued, Maverick felt that he wanted to give him the explanation.

A couple of minutes of we moved on, she’s into some high clearance shit now, the Pentagon is lucky to have her, he decided to drop it. Ice hummed his understanding. Either that or he hummed his appreciation for their drinks arriving.

The waitress took their orders and again strutted away, maybe or maybe not wiggling her ass a little more this time.

“So she _did_ dump you then, Mav?” The smirk was fricking audible.

“I never said that she… we just never… okay fine. Fuck it. You can rub it in all you like but it was forever ago and there are plenty of other babes around here wanting to bang pilots.” _Why was that so defensive and pathetic?_

Iceman said nothing. He reached for his glass.

“What happened to you and Slider? You still fly together?” Why in the hell was that Maverick’s retaliation? It wasn’t very well calculated. Obviously.

Iceman lowered his head, he picked up his fork and began idly twirling it. Letting it dance across his knuckles. He was getting agitated again, actions voicing his sudden disinterest.

Maverick envisioned _that_ pen. He searched for his beer.

“No I… I haven’t seen him in a few years. He requested a transfer in ’89… he wanted to- the last thing I heard was that he and his new pilot had, they had a thing. On the Nimitz.” Iceman’s voice became a near whisper.

The fork flowed through his deft fingers faster. How he didn’t prick himself at that speed, Maverick will never know.

“You’re jealous.” Iceman glared at him, nostrils flaring, lips parting.

“Just wish I- I still had an apt RIO on my six is all.” He was totally jealous, Maverick smirked to himself at that fact.

“He called Cougar when he was back on shore, saying he… he wanted to get married or whatever.”

Their food arrived and the fork stilled in Iceman’s grasp. Maverick scoffed, draining his beer. He thought about all those times he’d seen the two fuckers and how Ice pointedly ignored (or at least whenever he was around) Slider.

“Never met the guy. Wasn’t in town when it happened.”

“Always figured you two had a thing…” _Fist_ of the Fleet, huh. He smirked at that thought.

Maverick began to wonder _what were the odds of Ice getting his ass pounded by Slider every night?_ They were pretty damn high, was his immediate conclusion.

”I guess I just didn’t appreciate who I had, or know _who_ I wanted.”

 _Did Kazansky’s voice just get deeper, slightly strained?_ He’s staring intently, studying him. He’s acting nothing but cool in this moment.

Iceman’s lips parted, his breaths stalling for a moment. Maverick blushed and glanced down at himself, thanking no one in particular that the red lights hid it.

He ordered another beer.

“Do you always get what you want Mav- erick?” Iceman asked, adding about five k’s to his callsign, dripping in delicious innuendo.

“I see what I want and _go right_ after it”.

Now it was Iceman’s turn to blush.

Maverick’s jumped slightly. He felt a foot brush purposefully against his thigh, a hand coming to rest atop of his hand. On top of the table. For the whole world to see.

“Just go right after it, huh?” The silken voice dropped to his husky baritone.  
  
Maverick hastily licked his lips. Iceman’s lips parted.

He started massaging Maverick’s hand ever so slightly. Tracing the contours of his knuckles, running over his veins.

Maverick followed his other hand, he watched Iceman raise his glass to his lips and take a long gulp.

The highlights of his perfectly chiseled cheekbones. The shadows cast on his elongated throat.

Kazansky leant forward, over him, his drink abandoned and his eyes heavily lidded. The heat radiating from him was welcomed into Maverick’s space.

 _Can’t stop now. Can’t back out._ The fucker knew what he wanted all along.

“Let’s get out of here.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Iceman payed, after winning their mini all good natured debate that Maverick wanted to at least split. Any of his hotheadedness, was immediately chilled. Maverick chalked it up to being for, um… whatever the hell Iceman wanted him there for back on base that evening.

The two of them passed by their waitress and Ice chucked her tip at her. And a wink.

They had barely made it out of the doors when Maverick felt huge hands grabbing him, pulling him around the corner and shoving him up against the wall.

“Hey, what the hell are you-“

Iceman crushed his lips to Maverick’s, his hands making their way up his smooth chest, searching for somewhere to land. To keep him there. He pulled himself up a little more to meet Ice, let Ice kiss him deeper. He began nibbling as his jaw as Ice broke off into a trail of bites and licks, dragging a moan from Maverick.

He retaliated by grabbing Iceman’s tight ass with one hand as the other began clawing for his buttons. Iceman’s hips snapped forward, a moan slipped out. He was grinding roughly against him.

His lips searched for Maverick’s, moulding themselves into his perfectly. He slipped his tongue inside and yanked Maverick up this time. The kiss becoming more chaotic, animalistic.

Feeling his need for air, Ice broke away, chest heaving, forehead resting against Maverick’s. In a breathless tone he stated “Not here”.

Both men took in the sight of the other. Iceman’s hair was ruffled, his uniform crumpled and he was still panting harshly. Maverick focused on Ice and how the blush had spread across his cheeks, the beads of sweat that coated his face.

Slowing down his own breaths he realised, with ever growing clarity that Tom Kazansky truly was the most beautiful man ( _person?_ ) he had ever laid eyes on.

Pete smiles that mega-watt smile and for the first time, he honestly saw the man behind the smirk. The man behind the arrogant pilot. He dared to think that it was Tom Kazansky flashing his dreamboat smile at him.

The Iceman melted.

 

They agreed not to rush anymore. The two of them slipped back inside the BMW, Ice quickly fixing his hair in the mirror. Maverick’s head was swimming, lust was pooling between them.

Iceman reached for the radio; a man’s gruff voice was flowing from the speakers. A synth- heavy 80s ballad filled the silence.

Maverick heard a dull hum, along with the words. He glanced over to Ice.

**_Meet me halfway,  
Across the sky,_ **

He leaned over, his lips catching Iceman’s for a slow kiss.

**_Up where the world belongs,  
To only you and I._ **

He placed his hands on Iceman’s firm chest, feeling him arch up into the touch. Ice let out a needy gasp, with a whispered _Pete_ buried in there.

**_Meet me halfway,  
Across the sky,_ **

That was it, he pulled away to catch his breath. Iceman’s lips chased him, planting quick kisses all over his cheeks, nose and forehead.

**_Make this a new beginning of another life._ **

Iceman revved his engine, the look of hunger so evident in his eyes.  
“You _are still_ dangerous.” Iceman let out a short laugh, tones dripping with desire.

Hell yeah he was. Hell yeah.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cheesy scene for a cheesy film. If anybody is actually still reading this, I applaud you and thank you repeatedly.
> 
> The song is ‘Meet Me Halfway’ by Kenny Loggins- I shouldn’t have to explain that connection!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit this is a long one, where my POV’s start to get all skewed.
> 
> Blow jobs can make up for that, right?

A shimmering rising sun and the occasional jet engine was usually the way to wake Maverick up. This time though his rough hands gripped broad chest, absentmindedly twirling the hairs there. He was behind Iceman, curling around him.

Ice rolled over to see his face slack with sleep. He gently leaned down to kiss his nose and Maverick stirred slightly, a grin spread across his lips. Ice rolled back over to check the clock. It had just passed 04:30, he hadn’t slept much really. He never really did these days.

Turning back to the man sleeping beside him, he cautiously ran his dextrous fingers down the knuckles of Maverick’s spine, pulling himself closer to him. Iceman’s eyes were heavy, threatening to close.

He nestled back down into his pillow, pulled up the rumpled sheets from around his legs and bound himself tight to Maverick.

His new operation was sleep. He wouldn’t stop until he succeeded.

Minutes pressed on and he continued to shift. An hour or so later he finally gave in, leaving the bedroom and Maverick behind.

The signature cry of an F-14 was what did it this time. Squinting, Maverick felt about for the blankets, for Ice. He startled awake finding himself alone. He usually was the one to run before morning.

Making his way quietly down the stairs, he hunted for the light that was on. He ended up in the kitchen, Ice was just sat at the table doing… nothing.

_Did he regret last night? Did I push in too hard? Come too fast? He should know I’m pretty shit at restraining myself. Goddamnit._

“Morning lover boy.” Maverick chanced a ray of sunshine. It seemed unwelcome.

Ice said nothing, a wry smile forming on his lips.

“Sleep well? A little sore?”

Ice shrugged, at the obviously deployed sarcasm there. Maverick really hadn’t expected to top the first time. He would be rubbing that in.

“So… are we gonna’ eat here or what?”

Ice came back to himself a little more over breakfast. Letting Maverick steer the conversation, asking more of his time at sea. Nothing too serious for the moment.

 

There were only two more days before the class arrived. The dynamic had changed, somewhat. The two of them still had their run ins however everything was less heated.

Iceman didn’t touch him once they’d passed through the Top Gun doors. He set a space between the two of them that pissed Maverick off to hell and back.

As the days drew to a close though, Maverick would wait for his office door to fly open. To be seized up, pulled up and thrown against something.

To have Iceman’s lips on his again.

And it did. Day in, day out they had their time. Ice always coming to Maverick, surprising him every damn time he found a new way dominate him, keep him still.

Whether it was hand jobs in his office, chocked off moans muted by the showers, fingers teasing slick flesh in the backseat of Iceman’s car, Ice would lock on. Heavy glances and a simple nod, he’d be targeted by Ice, just waiting for him to engage. Barely breathing but waiting.

 

  
The class arrived and it was all business. Maverick knew that Iceman would be under close watch by Jester and a couple others. He knew that Iceman would prefer to keep his focus and establish himself as the _unrelenting, iron-fisted cold blooded motherfucker_ that Maverick once knew. Only this time there were plenty of students to be shitting themselves when hushed by Captain Kazansky.

Commander Mitchell paled in comparison.

 

It was a Friday evening, and bets were to be made. The two of them were trudging back to Maverick’s place after a night of shitty tequila and a little too much touching. For once Maverick couldn’t care less who won.

He stumbled up the stairs, tongue in Iceman’s mouth, hands fumbling with his belt.

The following morning he realised, nobody was really standing out to him anymore. These pilots were still cautious, relying on the textbooks and lectures which, fine. Okay. They all had to start somewhere although the distinct lack of crazy manoeuvres, no flight crew getting their asses whipped for said crazy manoeuvres, was all in all just boring.

That and he was still waiting for the day some dude with the call sign ‘Threat’ or ‘Hazard’ (or something else that provoked too much foreshadowing) to saunter his way into class. For the dude to sit right in front of him, answering back to his lectures.

Maverick would bet a shit load on that pilot in an instant.  
  
He looked to Ice, curled up in rumpled dark blue sheets. Hazel eyes found needy green ones and Maverick’s mouth went dry.

 

  
A month into the program and Ice still refused getting back into his once much loved twin tailed Tomcat. It still grated on Maverick that he hadn’t asked, sure he was reckless but once in a while his common sense did prevail. _Why? What was the big deal? It wasn’t like he’d crashed the damn thing, flown through a jet wash, spiralled out to_ \- Maverick willed his thoughts to stop.

Kazansky had trained on the damn jet.

It seemed stupid, it was probably nothing. Iceman probably preferred flying solo, he himself should understand that better than anyone anyway. So he didn’t ask. They continued their routine.

Ice was the target drone and Maverick would help no, try to help the students take Mr “ _Ice is nice_ ” down. It didn’t really work but hell, he sure had a great time.

That and he was still the perfect example of what not to do in combat, because _not all pilots have a death wish._ Jester made sure he knew that.

After the hop, Ice caught him in the Command locker room. He fought to keep breathing, as Ice’s tongue devoured his mouth. Ice yanked his towel loose and threw him down onto the bench. 

 

It was a Friday night and base was shutting up. Most of the class would surely be flanking towards the O- Club girls by now, or each other, Maverick couldn’t care less.

What he did care about right now was Iceman. How he had just strolled into his office, locked his door and manoeuvred himself over to him. He was sweating a little, eyes dark and full of lust.

How he carelessly pushed his desk chair back, licked his lips and fell into Maverick’s lap. And stayed there. For the better part of twenty minutes.

He was still mostly clothed, with Ice’s tongue running up and down his neck, his hands clawing at his hair.

They were going slow with Iceman’s bites and kisses burning into his skin. Branding him. Maverick felt skilled hands teasing lower; opening buttons, opening zips. He felt himself flush, his breathing hitched.

There had been a few discrete times in his office. A make-out session here, a leisurely blow job there, but tonight he knew it would be more. That it _should_ be more.

From the way Ice touched him, the way their lips locked. From the sheer intensity of Ice grinding his own hips against his.

Fuck it was all too much.

In one swift move, Iceman was pushed up and back, laying on top of the desk. Papers flew wildly around them, files fluttered to the floor, a glass spilled near his hands.

“Mmm, Mitchell” he let out in a gasp.

Maverick laid himself out on top of him, pinning him to the desk. He yanked off his own shirt and rid Ice of his. He let his trousers drop to the floor. Ice followed.

He licked his way down Ice’s chest, licked at his nipples and his hands traced his sides. He worked his way down, picking up the pace. His fingers ran up Ice’s thighs, who arched up against his torso with a faint whimper.

The perfect angle, grinding themselves together. Sending shivers straight to his cock, letting moans drop from his lips.

Ice retaliated the best he could, yanking down Maverick’s boxers and grabbing his dick, spreading pre-come over the head. He was rewarded with a delicious moan low from Maverick’s throat. Maverick scooted closer, spreading himself out over Iceman’s lean body, wanting those fingers in him. Needing Iceman’s mouth on him. Being driven crazy, knowing what that mouth could do.

Leaning on his forearms, Ice lifted his head. His tongue making its way up Maverick’s thighs. He couldn’t move much but was thankful as Maverick guided himself in as his lips sealed around him.

Maverick tried to go slow, he really did. Ice just sucked and sucked hollowing his cheeks, tongue swirling in random patterns up and down his shaft. His hips snapped forward, fucking Iceman’s mouth in short, abrupt strokes.

Ice pulled back some, took a breath and took him in again. Teasing a hand up to fondle him lightly, threatening Maverick to come apart.

The thrusts became quicker and Ice hummed his encouragement all around him. Feeling Maverick begin to tremble he backed off, his hand replacing his mouth in a swift, calculated move.

The room was filled with sounds of trained fingers rubbing roughly against slick flesh. He had to stop then, riding the edge of orgasm to realise how he’d neglected Ice and his divine cock pulsing beneath him. He reached down and grabbed him. He revelled in the surprised gasp, taking in the obscene moans from Iceman.

Maverick watched enthralled, as Ice threw his head back and let his moans grow louder, writhing underneath him as he was losing it. Any sense of self-control he may still have had left.

Knowing he couldn’t last much longer, he let Ice sit up, guiding him so that they were both on their knees, hands on the other’s cock, jerking the other man off. No skill or finesse at this point, just an immense need to come their fucking brains out.

To let Ice see him lose it, let Ice know what he had done to him. In a dogfight all of their own.

**Target Locked.**

And he did, a couple more strokes. He froze and his come coated Ice’s arm. He fought with determination, to keep himself upright.

**Splash one.**

Ice stopped for a moment, his hips buckled and then he was moaning his way through his climax with a shudder. He fell forward with surprising grace, into Maverick’s arms.

**Splash two.**

They both lay there panting helplessly. Iceman rolled himself on top, grabbed his head and kissed him hard, letting Maverick taste himself in his mouth.

They looked into each other’s eyes as their pulses beat their way back to normal. Maverick noted how Iceman’s pupils were engorged and his eyes heavily lidded. His lips had parted and he didn’t break his gaze, delirious with afterglow.

Neither had any desire to do anything but lay limp on the desk, up against the other. Hands trailing over sweaty skin, whispered words; lighting another fire.

It was right then, right there. The gaze like a missile lock. Iceman had fucking tone on him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the feels. Feels and sex.
> 
> Maybe Kazansky gets a little AU here, goddamnit.

**July 1994- San Diego Coast**

The first class had come and gone. The both of them thankful that the new trophy holders didn’t take them up on their _lovely_ offer of teaching here. Citing that they were too stoked to get back to their units, the Captain and Commander shared a knowing smirk and roll of eyes.

Iceman had won the bet though as technicality prevailed over recklessness. Now, with an extra $200 or so, Maverick downed another beer and added it to Iceman’s tab.

Iceman had just laughed into his shot glass, clutching at his thigh under the table. Maverick could tell he was making a mental note dedicated to the strain of Maverick’s own dress whites, the flush in his face.

That night was also how Maverick learned of Iceman's love for handcuffs.

Maverick blamed the alcohol.      

Iceman blamed his own cruel intentions.

 

The following evening they were both hot and bothered, sweltering in the Miramar heat. 

Ice was shirtless, no surprise there. All jokes aside, Iceman tended to really cope well with the heat. He seemed almost oblivious to the sweat that coated his delicious, golden tan skin. Usually anyway.

Unlike a moment like this: trying not to get stuck to his own sofa with Maverick’s body heat not helping him by any means.

“The damn thing is _leather”_ Maverick had stated.

“Too bad, I like this _damn thing_  so much.” Ice looked smug and flipped him off. 

"My wrists still ache." Maverick glanced at Ice, who said nothing. Only to blow smoke in his face and follow up with a predatory, toothy grin.

 

There was still a lot Maverick wanted to coax out of Iceman. To find out more about him, the little things really. Where he grew up, when he learnt to fly. Things perhaps others would just take for granted. Not just what made him so cold.

Ice’s arm snaked it’s way around his waist, his full lips caressed Maverick’s temple, keeping him close.

“How did you know you were… um, that you liked…” Maverick began, not thinking through what he wanted to say at all.

He was met with a raised blonde eyebrow and a scrutinising look. Iceman said nothing, Maverick struggled to find the words.

After a couple unsuccessful attempts at forming actually coherent sentences, Iceman huffed out a sigh and pushed Maverick away from him, so he could sit up straight on the other end of the sofa.

“Come on Mitchell, spit it out. I’m assuming you don’t want to hear why I’m about ready to kick your ass.” He quipped, with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“How did you… when did you-”

“-Get on with it.” 

“Oh for fucks sake. Are you a fag?”

Iceman blinked and turned away from him. He looked up, eyes landing on the ceiling and he sniffed. His mouth was working fast.

“No I just suck cock for kicks.” _Fucker._

The sarcastic tone dropped and Maverick miraculously kept staring at him. And even more miraculously, he kept quiet.

“Yeah. Judge me all you want Mav, just keep it to yourself.” He still didn’t turn back to Maverick, who could see the icy exterior beginning to thaw. “It took me a while to … _understand_ it and get over why I… but, yeah.“

He heard a little laugh and was oddly flattered. Even if this was all of the Iceman pouring out his heart as he would get, he would take it. Cherish it. He would probably also analyse it to hell and back.

”I stopped fighting it and started going after what I wanted.”

“How did you know?” Maverick poses, after a beat.

“I didn’t. I’m not sure when it all started. Eleven or twelve probably, maybe younger. I was always closer to guys, found them easier to talk too and fun to hang out with. I was with- with a couple of... chicks back then but I just didn’t, couldn’t bring myself to  _do_ anything with them… They freaked me the fuck out.”

Maverick smiled, he had an idea. Sure he had bedded a bunch of babes before getting serious with the whole Navy career thing- he had to get his fill before disappearing for months on end. Sure had done a couple of things with guys too but he never thought much of the few blowjobs from a certain sailor he thought he’d probably never see again. Or the sex with another sailor, for that matter.

“Anyway. I focused on getting the grades, deciding on the right career path and getting myself enlisted. By that point I was pretty sure there was _another_ reason as to why I was doing all this.”

“For the babes?”

“Sure Mitchell. For the babes.” Maverick could literally see Iceman kicking the urge to smack him around the back of the head. “I’d accepted who I’d get attracted too, the men I’d get… hung up on or whatever. _That’s_ when I knew Mav. I realised I’d always known. I had been with a couple of guys before VFA-25 and that was it. Just wish I’d realised it all sooner.”

“You were ashamed?”

Ice glanced over his shoulder at him, there was no malice in his words.

“Of course, as much as I hate say it. It was awful. I’d grown up being told that was wrong and that it wasn’t what my family wanted of me. Same sad story of disappointment or resentment, whatever. A life in the military was, well no, what I thought my first real act of rebellion was… Turns out liking sucking the cock of a queer was actually the first thing.”

“Jesus Christ Kazansky, you really are a-“ Maverick stopped himself upon hearing another radar lock being lined up in his head.

“Did you tell your family, do the whole coming- out thing?”

“It’s a thing? Hell no. I thought I hid it pretty well, considering I didn’t even know what it all was. Although...” He trailed off with a little laugh. “My sister began suspecting things when I was about fifteen...” he laughed again and shook his head, dismissing a thought. “...I never really called her up on it. I’d made up my mind about joining the Navy and hey, I would end up being on the other side of the planet for however the fuck long. Surely she’d forget.”

Maverick just nodded and pretended he missed the glimmer of hope in that.

"Sister?”

“Yeah Mav-erick,” _Goddamn Ice and all those extra k’s. “_ I actually _do_ _relate_ to people.”

"She older or younger?"

"What are you meant to do with that information?" Iceman cocked his head, he continued: "She's older. Last time I heard from her, she was about ready to move back up to Washington with her new husband and baby number three on the way. ”

Maverick wasn’t sure but he thought he sensed a faint hint of jealousy in that. Of course Iceman must wonder, what it’d be like to have a public relationship. To be free to have a public relationship. Like the civilians do, free to showcase their love and to express themselves.

If their _thing_ went public. He certainly had mulled over that one himself.

 _Maybe the students wouldn’t give a damn these days. There has been plenty of butt action in that locker room..._ Maverick’s thoughts were interrupted when-

“-I know one day I’ll get in too deep and need to tell... someone. Maybe my sister. Or my cousin, he might accept me.“ The words were flowing easier, melting the ice. “Shore leave isn’t too far away. It’s the sort of thing I’d want to do in person...” 

Maverick tried to picture the reaction. _Some statuesque blonde woman, with hair perfectly combed and straightened, a lean figure, dressed casual with some designer shit thrown in- trying to keep a straight face at her baby brother’s words. Or probably, her baby brother’s stuttered and broken words. Maybe not even words._

“...Next thing I know, I’m already 22 and just starting to work out who I am.” 

 _The words, by the sounds of it, she already knew._ He couldn’t help but wonder, what Ice’s sister must’ve thought all those years ago.

 

The next night they had dinner. Nothing fancy, just some shit from one of those stalls on the beach. Maverick told himself it was to burn through the last of Iceman’s riches from the bet. Cocktails may follow, he liked to dazzle Ice with what he could stir and shake.

He was wrong, they nestled down in a cosy spot on the beach instead of getting hammered. It was nearing midnight, the hours had escaped them both.

“Who was the first guy you ever-“

Iceman looked over to him as he took his final drag of his cigarette.

“What is this, twenty questions?” 

“Yes, dear”

“Blow me.” Ice let out an overly exaggerated, annoyed sigh and crawled over to Maverick.

“Fine, I’ll play along. Let’s go in order then.” Grabbing the hem of his shirt, Iceman slid his hands underneath it, feeling the sweat pooling on Maverick’s chest, in the grooves of his abs. “First real crush was about twelve, first blow job came from said crush a couple years later.” He deftly removed the shirt and began pushing him back down into the sand.

“First guy to fuck me was shortly before enlisting. ’77, ’78. First guy I fucked was sometime before Annapolis.” His hands skirted down to rest over Maverick’s crotch, the denim straining under his light touch. “By then I realised that I like to switch.”

For such a goddamn narcissist, Kazansky was strangely secluded. Nobody would ever learn a damn thing about him. Other than him being the best at whatever he does but that was kind of a given. Never mind any of this; whatever this is.

“What am I forgetting? There have been a couple of kisses, nothing special. And as for… love. Well, I thought. Thought I’d found that but I was wrong.”

His eyes locked on Maverick backlit by the moon, as he leant over him and his breathing becoming ragged. “So now I’m looking again.”

Ice negotiated the regulation belt buckle of Maverick’s jeans, peeling them off his suddenly sweat soaked body. He dove for what he could find.

In between his pants, “Ice you were… you were in love.” His voice cracked on the final syllable.

Ice raised his head and all stimulation stopped. “That love was unrequited. I know that now.” He paused to lick his lips. “Why waste my time?”

Mavericks eyes focused on his, he pulled Ice up to him and slammed their mouths together. Tongues twisting and turning, forcing it’s way into Iceman’s parted lips.

He moaned as Ice caught his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled at it.

“Nobody really knows. Nobody really _needs_ to know.” 

“That you like getting your ass pounded? Or, that we’re a thing?”

“Shut it.”

 

There was no turning back now, Ice wouldn’t leave him hanging. Clothes were flung carelessly around them.

Moonlight beamed it’s way down coating the shore with a harsh glow against the dark blues and black. Perfectly crafting the silhouettes of them rolling on top of one another in the sand.

The dogfight was on… Kissing, touching, wanting.

Maverick ended up on top and he surveyed the hungry hazel eyes that shamelessly roamed all over his body.

Iceman nodded and Maverick smiles his mega-watt smile, knowing the desire in that look.

Maverick grabbed Iceman’s shirt that had landed near his feet, he knew him well enough that a condom would be in there somewhere.

Maverick raked his nails all over his legs and sides, pressing little kisses down Iceman’s treasure trail and the blonde hair that dusted it. With a sharp inhale, his mouth closed on him, rewarding him with a throaty groan. Ice bucked his hips upwards trying to set the pace. Maverick sucked harder and his spit- slicked fingers trailed lower, finding Iceman's entrance and prodding at him. Slowly he worked two fingers inside.

“ _Fucking hell_ Mav… keep going.”

A third finger was added and Iceman cursed, with threats for Maverick’s fingers to fuck him harder, penetrate him deeper.

Judging by the delicious sounds he let escape, Ice was more than ready for him. He was too eager and pent up, any shred of self- control had surely melted away. Getting to his knees, he yanked Ice’s long legs up onto his shoulders.

Still high on the rush of Iceman’s confession, he fumbled with the condom wrapper and shoved his cock in. Hard.

Ice screamed. His eyes rolling back into his head as he trained his breaths to slow and let Maverick in.

The thrusts were growing in intensity and Ice was grinding his hips up to meet him. Maverick’s brain went into overload. Like flying at Mach 2, riding the edge of going supersonic.

Ice gripped his forearms hard enough to bruise him. His hand fell to Iceman’s leaking cock and jerked him a little slower than the thrusts. The noises falling from his lips were obscene, they should be illegal.

Within minutes, Ice keened. Arching his back up as his inner walls contracted around Maverick, wringing the orgasm out of him. Shivering, Maverick stayed inside Ice, his last ounce of strength dedicated to the hand job that had Ice swearing and moaning his way through as his come splattered onto Maverick’s sweat soaked skin.

He did collapse then, he heard a little laugh as he fought to get his weight off of Ice. Ice who, in his blissful post- orgasm haze, kept him there and kissed him. He was a lot less mouthy when he had come. He was open, unguarded.

The two of them lay their in their sweaty love for minutes, an hour? Who the fuck knows. Whatever it was, it felt like an eternity.

 

Later in the night after round two, Ice collapsed onto him, panting and drained. Satisfied but drained.

Maverick realised he had every goddamn right to be there and he wanted to be there. He needed it. He needed Ice all around him, getting into his space. Branding him with hickeys and fucking him endlessly.

 

They hadn’t spoken much of that night on the beach or, the follow up at Iceman’s place. Which honestly, didn’t surprise Maverick in the slightest.

However after a particularly heated shower a couple nights later on base, the so-called ‘conversation’ had Maverick reeling.

Ice had acted painfully casual. He acted as though he hadn’t just sucked him off in the shower stall. 

Pissing Maverick off.

He acted as though he hadn’t just fucked the shit out of Maverick in the Command Locker room where any of- well Maverick’s superiors- could have just picked that moment to walk in and put an end to their careers.

Pissing Maverick off more.

He obviously didn’t even mind the whole  _dangerous_  idea of it, of course he wouldn’t. But he’d be a complete tit not to register some form of risk.

Either way it’d go without saying that they’d be at it again in no time.

“When I said that love was unrequited. I meant,” Ice began out of nowhere, his attention never leaving Maverick. “I realised that he didn’t know I loved him back…I’d never show it-” Ice was taken aback by that, cursing himself for the momentary look of surprise.

“-Of course you wouldn’t.” Maverick interjected. “It’s not in the rules so _you_ wouldn’t do it. It’s not anything your superiors would approve off so _you_ wouldn’t do it. But others...” he let it linger “would let themselves feel. They’d do it.”

He crawled away from Ice, so they sat opposite one another. Maverick tried to ignore Iceman’s position: legs apart with one knee bent, his right arm resting on his knee with his hand dangerously close to his own-

“-Whoever this guy was, was probably driving himself batshit crazy knowing he could _never_ get anything from you. That you were there, but you were never really there _with_ him.” Maverick babbles, sitting up with his back against Kazansky’s locker, rubbing at his eyes.

“Unless it was in his bed, then he’d know.” He chances a small smile, not really wanting to look at Ice but somehow managing it.

They lapsed into silence. With a huff, he had risen to his feet.

“The callsign implies too much.”

With a brisk walk he followed the trail of his uniform, scattered all around them.

He’d picked up Iceman’s shirt and tossed it at him over his shoulder, anything to not look at him.

Iceman said nothing.

Upon hearing the door close Iceman tipped his head back. If he squinted he could make-out Mitchell’s callsign printed above his head.

The words cold and clipped were echoing   _“that you were there, but never really with him”._

The faint tread of his boots walking away left Iceman reeling.  _“Unless it was in his bed, then he’d know.”_

Iceman had never felt so alone in his life.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

A couple weeks had passed. The Miramar sun continued to beat down, painting the horizon in deep oranges and yellows. Summer was always his favourite time to take to the skies. No students for one thing, he had another two months before the Autumn class would arrive. Although the glare in his visor was always a bitch.

He wasn’t required on base much, so these months were the long awaited break. Fuelled with a dull undying need to be back up there, as that singular black speck that disrupted the peaceful skies.

They hadn’t talked since that night. It wasn’t what Maverick expected, leaving Ice alone to presumably think over what he’d said. He still hadn’t worked out himself where that came from. The uncharacteristic vulnerability in the words, the hostility in which he carried them.

Although it was maybe meant to seem a little cheeky in the moment, the more Maverick reflected, the more he realised Pete Mitchell was taking over. At least in these tender moments with Ice- no, Tom.

Perhaps over the years, long after: stirring up trouble with Goose; Charlie’s departure; Carol’s heading back home; Pete himself had...waned. The renegade pilot was all that was seen: he flaunted it; prided himself with it. So these rare lapses of his better judgement were unsettling, he had no context for this.

Nothing other than becoming secluded. Whether it meant pointless drives up and down the motorway, nights alone drowning his sorrows at a new club, or time to overthink everything on the landing strip; he’d isolate himself. Let Pete Mitchell have his angst fuelled time in solitude before again taking to the skies as the free spirited, cocky shit that kept the students on their toes.

That doesn’t mean to say that he hadn’t gone a night without reliving their conversation or, just the words he’d laid out to Ice.

Whatever the hell the _“unrequited_ _love”_ part meant.

 

Pete was convinced that Tom was still too attached; guilty because he had done something wrong. Maverick was convinced that Iceman was breaking the  rules and was a pussy for letting himself feel. How it would affect his career. His cold image, his cold status.

He’d be an idiot to not realise it was risky business beforehand. It was just getting harder and harder to pass Iceman in the halls, or talk to him, without wanting to kiss him. Or something.

He’d also stupidly thought that Ice would come crawling back to him; with an explanation or a confession he wasn’t quite sure. Or a poorly executed apology, even if it was hesitant and stuttered.

Pete would be able to see Tom through the ice, trying to chip his way through, at least once. Right?

It was embedded too deep in his callsign; Maverick’s own ice puns were wearing thin. They weren’t so derogatory these days, more like a subtle reminder of the greatest competition of all those years ago.

 

One week and he was bored out of his mind. He contemplated going down to Ice’s place and starting a screaming match about how there were these _damn feelings that shouldn’t mean a damn thing_ and for him _to man the fuck up and at least try to talk things through._

He just didn’t know where he stood with Ice anymore. Rival, colleague, or just the same insubordinate son of a bitch that irritated him to hell and back?

_The same object of sexual tension, he still couldn’t (shouldn’t?) do anything about._

 

After two weeks of virtually being alone, he decided that ambushing Ice at his house was the way to go. Enough was enough.

Maverick was laying on his sofa, trying to piece together the conversation. He’d put on his record player, the sounds of tantalising snare beats and a mystic guitar filled the tiny room. 

_**This is the end, beautiful friend.** _

It was one of Iceman’s favourites. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it as Maverick preferred more innocent rock and roll; not this psychedelic stuff that really confused the shit out of him.

**_This is the end. My only friend, the end._ **

The end of what, he wasn’t sure. The end of what with Ice, he hadn’t a clue in hell. 

Maverick remembered Iceman singing along with it, he remembered how he had just laughed at the strange tones and warmth Kazansky himself bought to the track. Now it just didn’t sound the same, without Kazansky’s beautifully wretched voice, lighting a fire within him. 

Which was why he was stunned into immobility when he opened the door to Kazansky that stormy night. It had been a while since Maverick had seen him in whatever the civilians called… normal. Iceman wore tight black jeans and a white button down shirt, that seemed to cling to him perfectly, flaunting his lightly muscled pecs. On top of that his bomber jacket was more or less doing a shit job at keeping him dry as the rain beat down on him, skewing his frosted tips into all directions.

He felt Iceman scrutinise him as they seized each other up. The atmosphere thick as though they were competing for that trophy all over again.

Ice ran a hand through his ruined hair, licked his lips and strutted into the hallway. The rain dripping off of him as he turned to shut the door.

Without a word he lunged forward, his hand caught Maverick’s cheek and the other snaked it’s way down to his ass; almost in perfect time to the crescendo of the drum beat. He crushed their lips together and Maverick moaned in both pleasure and surprise.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” Iceman was steering them towards the sofa until Maverick felt it hit the backs of his calves and fell atop it. “Sorry it’s been so long.”

Iceman followed him down, stretching himself over him, lips heading straight for the ticklish spots on his neck.

“Ice… hey Ice, stop it.” Maverick wrestled his way out of Iceman’s grasp and left him on the sofa alone. He took a seat on the opposite side of the room, looking directly at him trying to catch his breath.

“Thought you were avoiding me, why now?” Maverick states, voice small.

Always one to dodge the serious question, the sarky answer that followed: “Nice little ego stroke to know you were waiting for me. What the hell do you want from me Mitchell?”

“For you to be goddamn _normal_ for a change and fucking admit to what your feeling.” Maverick was almost yelling now, up and pacing about his tiny living room. Maverick made sure he kept track of every reaction he provoked from the other man.“Give me something at least.”

“You want some fricking emotion? The fuck am I meant to do with that.”

“Okay then, what are we even doing? It’s been weeks of us together, off base and on. Waking up alone nearly every damn time to-

“-You’re acting like your not the type to run.” Ice scoffed, “The hell are you feeling then, Mitchell?”

Silence.

“Exactly. Did you seriously think sleeping with someone wouldn’t change anything?” Iceman continued, rolling his eyes.

“I sure as hell know I’m feeling something for you I fucking shouldn’t.”

”Cut the cryptic bullshit, Mitchell. Why did I even bother.” Ice chocked out, eyes landing on the floor by Maverick’s feet.

“You bothered because you _care_. You won’t tell me that and heaven forbid you won’t show it but you care. And I care… what in the hell are you doing.”

“ _You_ , if you’d get your little insubordinate ass over here… For the love of, Mitchell, I haven’t got the faintest clue anymore! All I know is I can’t keep my hands off of you.” Ice’s voice hitched up slightly, he was beginning to fray his edges.

Maverick stopped his pacing and came to kneel in front of Ice on the sofa.

“C‘mon Kazanksy, what the hell does that mean?”

Ice shakily ran a hand through his damp frosted tips before chancing a look at him. Only breaths were audible, Ice lowered his eyes again.

“Won’t you say anything?” Maverick’s arm shot forward, clenching Ice’s jaw and turned him so that their eyes locked. He was met with rapid blinks, that were trying to hide the slight tears forming there.

His patience was wearing thin and he was getting nowhere. He refused to let Iceman disengage and give up on him that easily.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what this is… Fuck, Maverick. All I know is it’s been _hell_ without you. I don’t want to be… without you anymore. I scraped through eight years of that crap and I’m not doing it all again.” Iceman sputtered.

Silence.

“How long have you been in love with me?” Maverick insisted. “ _How long_.”

**Target locked.**

They exchanged a few nervous, heated glances. The tension, or was it anger, was all Maverick could focus on.

Iceman sighed then, his predatory stare fixed on Maverick’s suddenly unsure face.

“Since that first day in the classroom. You had a missile lock on me and I knew it. I fucking knew it. I tried to keep you at arms length and you… you were straight. The fuck was I meant to do about that.” He couldn’t read Iceman’s expression or make any sense of his voice. 

“Straight?” Maverick went a little wide-eyed, not having meant to have questioned that out loud.

”Now that’s something I’m proud to admit I was wrong about. I am wrong, aren’t I?” Iceman was taunting him, pissed as he was he was still pushing Maverick’s buttons.

“This is _you_ we are talking about here.”

Ice gave him a unfulfilled smile, so small he wasn’t even sure that he had seen it. He continued “You just went after whatever you wanted and I knew... I wasn’t that.” 

Maverick fidgeted slightly, he was thankful that Iceman didn’t question it.

“The mere thought of you, the _tension_ … I was losing it, alright. Losing it. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t keep the focus. It drove Slider away, he saw straight through me in an instant. And here I was thinking that icebergs were opaque.” Ice trailed off, obviously pissed for having outed himself. “Turns out, the whole _self_ _restraint_ thing is something I’m still working on. When it comes to Pete ‘ _Maverick_ ’ Mitchell at least.” His voice was taught and strained. Maverick clung to each and every word.

**Splash one.**

“ _Tom_.” He hadn’t meant to say it so harshly. “Answer me.”

“Okay okay. Calm the fuck down.” Exhausted hazel eyes found pissed off green ones. Ice cleared his throat. “I’ve lo- I’ve... _loved_ you from the first moment I saw you... Christ, I never stopped loving you.”

**Splash two.**

And it was then, that moment. Everything changed. These last few months were screwing the both of them up inside and neither wanted it to stop. They were in too deep.  
  
“I realised I never knew what love was… until I met you, Mav.”

**_Mayday mayday, Mav’s in trouble. He’s in a flat spin. He’s heading out to sea._ **

“Fuck this shit is corny.” He added after a beat, anything to try and break the tension.

“Why won’t you fly with me?” Maverick wouldn’t let him have it any other way.

Iceman blinked, training his eyes on the floor again and turned away.

“What?”

“Why won’t you let me have your back. In an F-14, where you _belong_.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it up for negotiation.

 **_You can be my Wingman anytime,_ ** _remember?_

After a minute or two, the thick air was finally starting to part. No longer chocking him, waiting for Ice.

“I’m done with dogfights. I’m not losing another man up there.” The teary eyes said it all, as Maverick watched Iceman fight with himself not to fall apart, anything else but to melt away.

Both men lunged forward, grabbing the other and holding on tight. Ice’s hands clawed at Maverick, he held him in a tight vice grip as he stuffed his face into the juncture of where neck met shoulder.

He’d thought that he’d melted the ice before. That was nothing compared to this. It was all too much. So he just sat there in near silence, just held Ice as he heard his muffled cry.

 ** _He’s holding on too tight, he’s lost the edge._**  
After all these years flying solo, Maverick finally understood what that meant.

Pete knew Tom couldn’t sleep. He knew Tom couldn’t put himself through the nightly torture remembering God only knows what.

Maverick knew Iceman couldn’t fly with him. Not like this. 

He didn’t need to ask anymore.

Their breaths synced up and Iceman finally pulled away. Iceman hastily rubbed at his face and straightened up. He reached for and Maverick’s outstretched hand and followed him down the hall, unafraid.

He stripped Iceman of his damp clothes, he kissed him long and slow, guiding him backwards to the bed. The touches were careful, the gazes held such purpose.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Yellow rays creeped through the blinds, casting a bright light into the room. Pete rolled over, his nose pressing into Tom’s shoulder. He gripped him tighter, hands skating languidly up his sides with a light touch. Tom shifted some and smiled, eyes fluttering open. He’d slept peacefully through the night and stayed beside him. He silently thanked Pete by letting him clutch him tighter, by letting him kiss his way up his neck.

“What happened to your father?” Maverick hadn’t expected that.

Iceman propped himself up on one hand, his eyes trailing over Maverick’s torso as he leant back against the beaten headboard.

“All I had heard was that you were pretty much Navy inbred. That was from Hollywood, I never knew whether to take it seriously.”

Maverick chuckled. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

”He must’ve had some incredible stories.”

“I wouldn’t really know. He disappeared November 5th 1965. For years I had been told it was his fault, that he screwed up. That and I’d never know why.”

”Classified?”

”Classified. I never believed any of it, there was no way. My old man was a great fighter pilot.”

Iceman just listened, his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on Maverick’s thigh.

“Is that why you _were_ always second best up there? You always had something to prove. Someone to prove wrong.”

Their eyes locked and Maverick’s jaw clenched, the conversation was eerily familiar. Although this time, it was easier. He wanted to say it, nearly as much as Iceman wanted to hear it.

“The night before graduation Viper told me he could’ve made it. He went back.”

“They flew together? You didn’t know?” Ice’s tone was strangely compassionate.

Maverick just shook his head.

“And your mother?”

“She immersed herself in her records, I never saw much of her. She’d just ask for the same songs over and over.”

Iceman crawled up to meet Maverick’s face.

”She died shortly after.”

Maverick gasped slightly as he watched with intent, Iceman set his hands at either side of his face. Their lips met, the kiss long and slow. After he pulled away, Iceman nuzzled his neck, lying up against his shoulder.

“So we still have the rest of the summer, I haven’t had the chance for a holiday in years. What should we do?”

“Hire a van and wreak havoc over the Mexican border?” Maverick could barely keep a straight face through delivering that.

“Sure…” Ice rolled his eyes, not at all convinced. “You cannot be serious.” He sat up and rested against the headboard, pulling Maverick up with him. “I’m finally on shore for a well earned holiday and you want to-“

“-Motorcycle road trip around California, hopefully without pissing off any gangs?” Ice could sense the sarcasm and see a little mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wreaking havoc over the Mexican border it is.” Ice winked at him.

Maverick squinted and cocked his head to the side.“You’re just too pussy for the biker gang.”

“I’m not riding bitch, it’s demoralising.”

The sounds of their intermingling laughter filled the room. There was still time for Maverick to get Ice on the motorcycle. Maybe even teach him to ride it... Maverick paused, recalling  something, something important.

“How about taking a trip to DC, you said you wanted too.” Maverick was cautious, almost. “See your sister, her family. _Talk_ to her... let her _accept_ you.”

Maverick could see Ice thinking it over, the way his mouth worked and his brow furrowed. The next thing he knew he was met with the widest, most fulfilled smile Ice had to offer. A real one, like back on the carrier all those years ago. Back to that fateful night, when Maverick too realised that they had started something incredibly beautiful.

 

 

Tom Kazansky was at last shining through and Maverick figured that more often than not, so should Pete Mitchell.

Tom showed him with a newfound clarity, what it was like to be wanted. Craved. Cherished. Tom was coming back to himself more and more, their feelings intensified with every touch and lingering gaze.

No more radar, missile locks and target drones. Just passion, dedication and warmth.

Just love.

(The occasional bitch fight here, a little too much cockiness there).

It’s all they’d ever need. 

 


End file.
